Your Angel Standing By
by C. Smooches
Summary: Buffy... Angel... a funeral.


Title: Your Angel Standing By

Author: Calista

E-Mail: 

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.

Rating: R for character death.

Spoilers: Let's just say vague spoilers from throughout the shows... nothing you wouldn't already know.

Summary: Buffy... Angel... a funeral.

Lyrics: By Jewel.

Pairing: B/A

Warnings: Angst, character death, angst. Don't say I didn't warn you. eg

Feedback: Yes please. Don't make me beg.

Everything was perfect; the ceremony complete with close family and friends, the warm autumn day complete with a crisp cool breeze that kept us from burning up in our black outfits, the lilies, her favorite, that lined the church and the casket. I cursed the day.

Giles had flown in from England; he'd taken care of all the arrangements. I couldn't. The priest had given a touching speech full of sincere words and condolences. I don't remember any of them. Afterwards people milled around, saying their own goodbyes, making sure I was okay. I wasn't.

Everyone is gone now and I am alone. I'd always be alone; destiny had already sealed my fate years ago. The past five years of happiness and bliss just there to show me what I could have had, what I'd be missing now. To show me how alone I truly am.

I can still see Dawn's red, swollen eyes her pale blotchy face and wonder if my own looks the same. I hadn't felt myself crying, but the past week I hadn't felt much of anything except the numbing aloneness. I curse destiny, and fate, and any other cruel power that had a say in this.

A mother was not supposed to burry her child.

My legs feel weak and I drop to the ground. My knees sink deep into the moist freshly turned ground. The slight lump is still there, my child resting eternally in the ground, rotting as I sit here. The dirt feels cold to the touch. She had been wearing her favorite dress, the white cotton sundress with pale pink flowers on it. It had no sleeves; I knew she had to be cold. Maybe I could get a jacket; she had a pink sweater that would match, I'd be a bad mother if I didn't put it on her. I need to make sure she's warm, while the bugs eat away at her flesh, tearing apart my little girl as she slumbers under the ground.

I wondered if I dug her up, would she look the same. How fast did decomposition work? I wished I'd of paid more attention in biology class those years ago; maybe than I'd know the answer. If I put on her sweater would her glossy brown hair still be there curling at the ends as it used to? Would her hazel eyes shine at me, or would I be faced with the dull lifeless ones I'd found floating by the pool? Would she still smell of chemicals or the feint smell of baby powder and flowers?

"Meghan Avery Summers" I diligently trace my index finger over the freshly carved stone, "2004-2009".

I can feel my stomach tighten into the tiny cramps which travel up my body attacking my heart and throat as well. I can feel the darkness set in, the world fading a deep shade of grey. Pressing my face to the ground I can hear her laughing. And my heart reaches out to her. My eyes shut tightly I can see my little girl skipping to me her eyes sparkle as she laughs, and a tear slips down my cheek.

It's dark now but I don't dare venture home. I don't have a home anymore, not without my girl. It's just a house now, full of memories I don't want and promises of the future I'll never have.

She was to start kindergarten in a few weeks; it had been all she'd been talking about. She was excited to go to school and I was excited for her. With each passing day I could see more and more of her budding personality but fate took it all away. I could see her father in her, in that deep stare of concentration. The possessiveness of her over me, just like her daddy. She had both our stubbornness, she wouldn't quit until she'd succeeded. But she was gone now.

My eyes hurt, dry and scratchy from the tears. But I don't feel it; I don't feel anything in the empty shell I've become.

She'd grown up so fast; I still can't believe how fast the time went. In my mind she's still the eight pound two ounce little infant I carried home from the hospital ages ago. The little infant who wouldn't sleep for more than two hours at a time regardless of the time of day. The infant who'd grown into a toddler full of curiosity wondering how the world operated. The toddler who thought "no" meant "sure", and knew only one word, "mine." The toddler who learned how to speak and than later how to share, who loved to play dress up and got into Buffy's makeup on more than a few occasions. The toddler who turned into a child. The child who wouldn't fall asleep until hearing about the story of the Vampire Slayer and her Vampire lover, who loved dancing around the house and playing drums on the pots and pans. The child who would never grow into a teen or adult, whose life had been taken prematurely. It wasn't fair. She'd done nothing wrong, an innocent caught in the cross fire of evil.

It's been a week since I'd seen her. Seven whole days since I'd been given the pleasure of her laugh, her smile, her sweet kisses and hugs. Seven whole days since I'd heard the words, "I love you Mommy," something that I'd started to take for granted until it'd been taken away, I'd give my own life to hear those words one more time, to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to know she was alive. My own flesh and blood, my pain, sweat, love, was buried underneath me. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be her. I wasn't supposed to burry her.

I trace the words on the tombstone again, words; it's all she is now. A name and some dates that won't mean anything years to come. She won't be the little girl that saved me from the downward spiral I had been headed on. She won't be the little girl who scrunched her nose at the sound or smell of broccoli. She won't be the little girl who preferred cookies over candy and ice cream over dinner. She won't be the little girl who danced around the living room in first diapers and later a purple leotard. She wasn't supposed to die.

I curse the fates, the powers, all the gods in the sky for doing this to me. At the age of sixteen I gave my life to the world, I surrendered my teenage years to protect the damned earth I walk on. I did it so sometime, in the far off future I could make a better world... for her. I gave up everything that ever meant anything to me, and still they take her away.

I sent Angel, the father of Meghan, to hell when I was only seventeen so the ungrateful world could continue. If I'd of known the pain and heartbreak that would later have faced me I would have screwed the world. Everything good in my life had been taken away one way or another from me, whether it be death- of Joyce and Meghan, or curses. I was sick of it.

"Fuck you." I cry out to no one and everyone, pain roaring through me, my fists balled tightly as I pound on the ground, creating holes. "Fuck you," I say again softer, my tears overwhelming now, my entire body shaking with sobs.

I feel two gentle hands on my shoulder but make no attempt to move knowing exactly who it is without turning around. My Angel, he's come to me with the darkness. He misses his daughter too; a part of his soul has died as well. As he scoops me up into his arms the dirt falls like sand in a looking glass through my fingers covering our laps like fresh fallen snow, only tarnished- with death.

I look up at him, a fresh batch of tears falling and wonder why he's so... Angel. His own flesh and blood, his own miracle has just died and he hasn't shed a tear. He sits on the ground stoic and unmoving. Which is very unnerving right now, his lack of pulse and breath. Like her. Pushing my face close to him I feel the coldness of his body radiating and I inhale, the feint smell of death that had always been a part of Angel, he smells like her, my baby. If I close my eyes real tight, I can pretend I'm holding her, that she's still here with me.

As my sobs continue, the salty tears trekking down my face, I hear him whisper calmly into my ear, telling me everything will be okay. And the sadness I feel is replaced by anger. How could he, of all people, be telling me everything would be okay? I knew his heart wasn't beating but this was beyond absurdity.

I stare up at him with wide eyes and for the first time I can see his pain. For the first time since she'd died Angel has let me in his world. The pain I see clearly etched upon his face is almost unbearable, he looks so lost, so vulnerable, something I've never associated with Angel. His eyes are laden with guilt and pain and I can see the moisture welling in his eyes. And than before I have the chance to say anything, Angel's face is a blank mask, and for a second I wonder if I'd imagined everything I'd just seen.

He couldn't be here for the funeral, the sun still not agreeing with him, yet. But somehow I doubt he would have been here otherwise. Angel never one for crowds. I didn't doubt his love for Meghan though, because I know as much as I loved her Angel loved her equally, maybe even more. Because she taught him something, no one would ever be able to teach him, he could be forgiven. She had been his redemption. The thing he'd been fighting for, and now she was gone.

I feel his embrace on me tighten and wish for the umpteenth time that I'm not the slayer, that his embrace will crush my fragile bones, that I won't have to feel the agony I'm feeling right now. Then I can be with her again, she needs me, she's still too young to be on her own. She needs someone to warn her of strangers, to teach her to read, to eat gallons of ice cream after her first break up, to shop for homecoming, and then prom, and then wedding dresses. And I need her; I need all that as well.

Her lips were blue when I'd found her. Why did I always have to find them? I would have thought after finding my mother's lifeless body on the couch I'd be prepared for such an event, but nothing, nothing can prepare you for finding your dead child's body. Nothing.

My hand is shaky as I scribble on the paper, telling them I hope they understand but I'm not that strong. I wish I was but I'm not. I can't deal with the pain any longer, there's no more room for the pain. I've reached the end of my tunnel, but my light is burnt out and I'm lost in the darkness and I don't want to find my way out anymore.

I know my Angel is going to be mad, but I also know he'll understand, someone has to watch over Meghan, and he still has more to do on this earth. He can't give up yet, but I can. I've fulfilled my mission on earth; I've been through apocalypses, ascensions, the original evil, and hell gods. I've buried too many people I've loved.

I've watched too many people die. I've gotten too many people I love hurt. My time is over.

My eyes grow heavy; it's hard to keep them open now. But I'm not done, not yet. It's hard to hold the pencil, my grip on it loosening, my writing more shaky. But I need to finish, so I fight the poison in me, fight back the bile and blood creeping up my throat into my mouth.

I try to convey every thought, every feeling, everything that Angel has meant to me, but it gets hard, more and more of my energy spent trying to keep from dying. Because as much as I want to see her again, I need to let Angel know everything. I need him to know that he was always the stronger of the two of us, despite what he thought. I need to make sure that, in my years on earth I've never loved anyone like him, and never would. He was my other half, my soul mate. And that's why I could leave this world, because I've found him. I lived my life. And I would finally be at rest, in peace where Meghan and I could wait for him.

I near the end of my letter and smile. The bleak blackness surrounding me growing whiter and brighter. It is the light at the end of my tunnel, it hadn't gone out, I'd just misplaced it. I run toward the light, basking in its glory. The light becomes brighter as my breathing slows the breaths short and hitched my lungs tightening. But the pain is only temporary. I can't finish my name, I only got the word "always" scribbled almost illegibly on the paper, but I know he'd understand. The pencil drops to the floor, the echoes seeming to last forever until everything goes silent.

Her laughter fills my ears, as I open my eyes again I see her smiling face as she runs with out stretched arms toward me and I smile. Together we will wait until the day our Angel comes to meet us. We will be his angels standing by.

... All through the night I'll be standing over you

All through the night I'll be watching over you

And through the bad dreams I'll be right there, baby

Holding your hand, telling you everything is all right

And when you cry I'll be right there

Telling you, you were never anything less than beautiful

So don't you worry

I'm your Angel standing by ...


End file.
